


Found

by aye_of_newt



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Canon Compliant, Connor is dead, Gen, brief references to his method of suicide, no descriptions of his body, sad but the ending is at least a little hopeful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 04:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10891614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aye_of_newt/pseuds/aye_of_newt
Summary: Connor didn't mean to leave so much confusion behind. That part was an accident. The note just managed to slip behind his dresser somehow.A few weeks after the last scene of the musical, Cynthia finds it.





	Found

**Author's Note:**

> I have tried very hard on this fic. I want very much to be respectful of both the original musical's message and of real people who have been affected by suicide. I don't think that I did anything that would be interpreted wrong, but if I did, please let me know so I can fix it.
> 
> I understand why the audience is never told the real reason Connor killed himself. I get why it's important to the idea and message of the musical. However, I needed to write this to make peace with it. I wanted to hear Connor explain why. And I felt like the Murphys deserved to know. And Connor deserved to show people who he really was. After all, no one deserves to disappear.
> 
> Also, there is very little of Connor's real life shown if the musical and that makes it hard to know for sure if he is in character. I hope I did him justice.
> 
> ****Finally, I would like to say that I do not necessarily think that any one of the characters is correct in how they viewed the situation. I just tried to put myself in their headspace and think about how their character would feel about the events, whether or not they are right.

The Murphys stayed long enough for Zoe to finish school. They had talked about the possibility of leaving sooner, but Zoe had decided she wanted to have her senior year in the place where Connor should have had his. Honestly, Larry and Cynthia weren't ready to leave either, not really. They were taking the year to say goodbye. So it wan't until two weeks after graduation that they boxed up the house to move on.

They weren't going too far, after all, they wanted to be close enough to visit the orchard, but there were too many memories in the house. It felt like they were drowning in them, like he was _screaming_ from every corner. It wasn't like the orchard, where the memories were safe and happy. They needed a new house, one that Connor didn't live in. One that he didn't die in. 

The Murphys slowly cleared out the rooms, boxing dishes and clothes and books, tracking back again and again to do any small job they could, avoiding one task that no one wanted to do. But eventually there was nothing left to take care of, nothing left to use as an excuse.

It was Cynthia who finally gathered the ability to enter Connor's room. 

For a moment she just stood in the doorway. Of course, she had been in his room since it happened. Since Evan happened. Countless times. But now, it was being put away. When they go to the new house, everything else they had packed would come out again. Zoe would set up her new room

But Connor never would.

The finality was the hardest part of saying goodbye. Yet, the Murphys had decided they needed to do it. Cynthia knew she had to do it, had to say goodbye. But in the moment it felt impossible. 

She breathed slowly and stepped forward.

Once Cynthia began she couldn't stop. If she did, this would never get done. The clothes went first, folded gently and put into boxes, her hand smoothing over them again and again, as if afraid she would damage something. And if she left a few of his favorite shirts at the top where they could easily be reached, then it was nobody's business.

Methodically but carefully she made her way through the room until there was nothing left but a pile of boxes by the door and bare furniture. Looking around the room one last time, Cynthia remembered her glasses sitting on the dresser. She had taken them off because they caught her tears and made it hard to see. She reached for them but her slightly shaky hand fumbled, sending the glasses skittering back where they fell between the gap.

With a soft curse, Cynthia squinted down the crack. Unable to see where her glasses had fallen, she knelt down beside the dresser, peering agin into the darkness. She tried to worm her hand between the furniture and the wall and found the space too tight. With a groan, Cynthia stood, and prying her fingers around the corner, pulled the dresser away from the wall. It shifted a few inches, allowing her glasses to fall out, along with a folded piece of notebook paper.

The paper fluttered softly in the breeze of the movement, slipping a foot or so across the floor. Cynthia froze, staring at the small slip now laying at her feet. Very carefully she knelt and picked up her glasses. Slipping them on, she hesitantly reached out and took the paper.

If felt filmy with dust and the bits of paper that showed between the black ink and of the writing had taken on a slightly grey color. Preparing herself for what she thought would be some old school assignment Connor had lost, Cynthia unfolded the note. Connor's smudged, cramped handwriting stared up at her. She scanned the first few lines. And screamed.

 

It was the kind of sound Larry hadn't heard since the day they found Connor. He hadn't run so fast since that day either. It was with a sense of horrible deja vu that he bolted up the stairs, nearly tripping as he pushed back the door to Connor's room, terrified of what he would find. He barely noticed Zoe appear behind him, just as out of breath, or the boxes he had knocked to the ground.

Cynthia was kneeling on the floor next to the dresser where one corner was pulled away from the wall. She was staring at a piece of paper clutched in her hands. When she looked up at Larry her face was a sickly grey, streaked red with crying. He stared at her for a moment before she spoke, nearly choking on her words, 

"Larry, he left a note."

He still hadn't managed to process what that meant when Zoe spoke, "What do you mean he left a note? There was no note. That's why we thought Evan-"

She broke off, looking confused and vulnerable. Larry could only nod, his hand sliding slowly off the door handle, dropping limply to his side. 

Cynthia extended the note weakly. Her voice rough and quite she said, 'This was behind his dresser. It's his handwriting. It's...it's his."

Larry took a few unsteady steps toward his wife, all but collapsing beside her. He knew he should be reacting but his brain was suck in a loop, replaying over and over again the first time they had done this.  _The look on the coroner's face as he handed Evan's letter to them, his murmured apologies. How Larry could only stand there, unmoving as his wife slid to the floor sobbing._

"I," he started, quiet and lost, "I just don't understand. Why? Why would it be there? How...?" Larry trailed off, staring at the note his wife still held out between them, unable to make himself reach out and take it.

"Maybe when he-. Maybe the movement of the chair when he...maybe it knocked the paper back. Like he left it on the top and then?" Zoe broke off, glancing away from her parents stare, shifting from foot to foot where she still stood in the doorway.

_The image of a desk chair, tipped to one side, jammed up against the dresser surfaced in Larry's mind. He couldn't visualize if there was a piece of paper on the dresser or not. Then again, that wasn't what he had been focused on at the moment. His son was-_

"Maybe," he murmured, slowing looking back at the paper in Cynthia held. Feeling sick to his stomach, he reached out and took it. He carefully straightened the edges that had crumpled in his wife's hands.

"Did you-?" he asked, glancing to Cynthia, unsure. She shook her head.

"When I realized what it was...I couldn't read more than the first few lines. Could you?"

His wife looked at him desperately. Larry nodded slowly. "Out loud?" he asked. She nodded, wiping her eyes with trembling hands.

"Please."

Larry felt Zoe's knees brush against his back as she sank onto the bed behind him. In a stuttering, choked voice, Larry began.

**_So I guess it worked._ **

**_Well I'm assuming it did if someone else is reading this. God, I hope I didn't fuck up. That would be embarrassing. Being so pathetic I couldn't even get my suicide right._ **

**_Fuck, sorry. I'm not suppose to be doing that. Making you feel like shit. I did that enough when I was alive. That's why I have to do this now. I know you won't believe it, but I'm sorry that I fucked everything up. I keep watching myself do all this stupid shit and I can't stop myself. Mom, I know you tried to help, but nothing was working. Nothing will ever work._ **

**_I'm never going to get better. I've tried. I know that you don't believe me but I promise I did. I was a monster, especially to you Zoe. I didn't want to lose control like that anymore. That's why I started the drugs you know. Self-medication. Figured it would make me "mellow out" a bit._ **

**_Well, that didn't work, did it? Just made everything worse. It just made me worse. Turned out to be one more thing I fucked up. I should have guessed._ **

**_Don't get any wrong impressions. I wasn't really that good of a person. I got hooked and after the first few times the drugs really were just for me. They didn't stop me from doing crazy shit,  but they blocked out the guilt from being a crazy piece of shit. At least for awhile. They were just another selfish act._ **

**_Just like this is._ **

**_Or so I've heard. People say that suicide is selfish. That it hurts the family you left behind. Obviously, those people haven't met me. I hurt more people staying here than I will leaving._ **

**_I know you, ~~Lar~~ Dad, will think it's selfish though. Just think of it this way, it's the last selfish thing I'll ever do._ **

**_It's the last thing I'll ever do._ **

**_And isn't that fitting?_ **

**_I'm sure no one will be surprised when they hear. Everyone knew I was crazy. A time-bomb waiting to go off. I'm just giving the people what they want. If anything, they'll be disappointed I didn't try to take half the school with me. At least that let-down I won't have to see._ **

**_I know what I am. And I know how you feel about me. So I won't say I'm sorry for doing this._ **

**_I am sorry for everything came before._ **

**_I haven't earned any special requests so I won't make any. Just don't try to make me out like some kind of hero or perfect son just because I'm dead. I hate that crap._ **

**_I do want you guys to be happy. I'm just letting that happen._ **

 

**_Good luck,  
_** **_CONNOR_ **

 

When Larry finished his voice was no more than a rasping whisper, and yet it seemed to echo in the silent room. The paper slid slowly from his hand. Somehow, it was better when they didn't know. 

He had never felt so clearly that he failed. Countless fights with Connor ran though his head. All the times he had shouted at him, telling him he wasn't trying hard enough. Larry thought of the last time he had found pot in his son's room. He had screamed at Connor, saying it was obvious he didn't care about anyone but himself, that this whole thing was just a selfish grab for attention. And the part that really made Larry feel ashamed, when he told Connor he was done  _"wasting money on trying to fix him"._

It was the fight that came to mind most in the weeks after Connor's death. When he was trying to find a reason why. Cynthia had reassured him again and again that it wasn't his fault.  _"Conner didn't kill himself because of one fight,"_ she'd say. But it wasn't one fight. It was the things he had said every day. His own words echoed back across Connor's letter, each familiar phrase standing out like knives cutting across Larry's guilt.

Larry finally knew why his son killed himself. It was because of him. And Connor didn't even really blame him. He blamed himself. Just like Larry had taught him to.

"Cynthia," he whispered, "I am so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I killed our son. I killed Connor," he tried to go on but broke down before he could manage anything more, hunching forward as he began to sob. A moment later he jumped as he felt a pair of arms reached around him.

"Shh," Cynthia whispered, "It's not your fault." He hand reached up and stroked his hair softly. "It's not your fault." Larry collapsed against her chest. A moment later a second pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. He could feel his daughter's tears staining his shirt as she rested her head against his back.

They stayed there for a long time. Eventually, Larry shifted, looking up at his wife. "It is my fault," he whispered, "You read the letter Cynthia. He blamed himself and I told him-"

"No," Cynthia interrupted him, "it's not your fault. Our son was  _sick._ He was sick Larry. Connor was sick and you-"

"Didn't believe him."

"Dad," Zoe spoke softly and they both turned to her. She looked exhausted and years older than she was, "It's not any more your fault than mine. He called himself a  _monster_. I was the who said that. I made him think that he could never get better. It's my fault-"

"No. No, Zoe, no. Don't say that."

"It's true, Mom. I am the reason Conner started taking drugs. If I hadn't acted like an ass to him all the time, he wouldn't have gotten into that stuff."

"Zoe," Cynthia started softly, reaching across her husband to take Zoe's hand, "you don't know that. Connor didn't say you were the only thing that caused him to do anything. He said he wanted to get better  _for you._ That doesn't sound like someone who hates his sister. Or blames her."

"Maybe he should have."

Larry managed to find his voice, "Zoe, you're a kid. You had a lot more than simple sibling rivalry going on. Connor's issues were pretty severe. We couldn't have expected you to able to deal with them like an adult. He hurt you too. It was our job as parents to help Connor, not yours. I'm the one who failed him.'

"Larry-"

"No, Cynthia. You heard what he said. His who note was practically just quoting what I said to him. If I had just let him go back to therapy like you wanted, or been a little easier on him...maybe he would have gotten better.

"Dad, remember what you just said to me? He didn't say he blamed you. You can't put that on yourself."

"But-"

"No, Larry. Connor killed himself because he had depression. Not because of you. He said he wanted up to be happy. Conor might not have been much for expressing affection when he was alive, but he made it clear that he cared about us. Even if he didn't realize how much we loved him too. His final wish was for his family to be happy. We have to try to give that to him."

"I can't believe in that. Not right now," Larry started, and seeing the look on his wife's face added, 'But I'm going to try. Maybe I can do something for Connor now, something that I never gave him in his life. I think I should make an appointment with Dr. Miller. Talk about this. I don't think I can wait until our usual time next week."

"I think we should all do that," Cynthia murmured. Zoe nodded slowly.

They stayed there, huddled together in the quiet for a long time. Eventually, Zoe began to sag, almost drifting off to sleep where she was. After that, Larry prodded her gently to bed. When he came back upstairs Cynthia had tucked herself in. Larry avoided looking at the note she had placed on the beside table.

"It's not like last time," she said when she saw him in the doorway. "I'm going to get up tomorrow, I just need a little rest."

"Me too," Larry replied, walking around to his side of the bed. Climbing in, he curled around his wife. The silence of the house felt enormous. They lay there quiet for a long time. 

After several hours of fitful sleeping, the gave up, resigning themselves to just laying in bed under the hope that the bit of rest they had managed to get would be enough. Larry was just about to get up to make tea when Zoe came creeping in. 

"I couldn't really sleep much," she whispered.

"Us either."

Cynthia glanced at the clock. It was almost five o'clock in the morning. She slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I know what we're going to do. Everyone go get dressed."

 

***

The Murphy's drove to the orchard in silence. When they got there, Zoe pulled out the blanket from the trunk. They laid it out under one of the older trees and, passing the thermos of tea between them, waited for the sun to rise.

Larry and Cynthia dropped off quickly from the exhaustion and gentle breeze. Zoe remained awake, watching as the sun struggled to come up from beyond the hills. Even if she couldn't see it yet, it bathed Connor's orchard in soft pink light. She stared at it for a long time. 

"I'm sorry Connor. I miss you." The trees offered no response to her nearly silent whisper. And, just because she needed to say it, even if it wouldn't change anything now Zoe added,

"You're not a monster."

The sun finally broke over the horizon, brilliantly bright and gold. It was enough of an answer for her. 

 


End file.
